He ignores me and shoves leaves down the leg of the pants. I just watch with amazement that after everything that’s happening, he’s here. Doing this. Like we’ve done for the last decade. Together.
Finally, he looks up. “You gonna stand there or you gonna come over here and help me make this scarecrow?”
“I . . .” I’m speechless. I shouldn’t help him. I should make him leave. But I find myself walking across the lawn and grabbing the pants. I’m rewarded with a mega-watt smile.
“I think the rain that’s supposed to come this weekend will put an end to the scarecrow days. I figured we better get it up today before it’s too late,” he says, working on the second leg.
I watch him, my brows pulled together. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s what we do,” he says, pulling rubber bands out of his pocket and fastening them around the leg holes.
“Ty,” I protest as he takes the pants from me and hands me the shirt. “You have to stop this.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop this.”
He rises and looks at me. Bits of broken leaves are splattered across his shirt and in his hair. I want to reach out and brush them off, touch his cheek, but I resist. Barely.
“You can’t come by here anymore and do these things. They aren’t our thing anymore.”
“We’ve been through this,” he mutters. His arms reach into the pile and he pulls up a heap of brown leaves, shoving them into the shirt with more force than necessary. I pull away.
He sighs, releasing a breath that sounds like he’s been holding forever. “I’m not letting you walk away from me. If I have to spend the next ten years winning you back, I will. I’m prepared to do that.”
The sincerity in his eyes causes my bottom lip to tremble. “I promised you for better or worse, until death do us part. This is the worse part. I’m aiming for the better now.”
“Ty . . .” The words are stolen by the look on his face.
“Even if it takes me until the death part, I’ll try. I love you, Elin. I’m going to remind you of that until you believe it.”
“It could take a long time,” I say, my words kissed by a sniffle. “I don’t think your patience would last very long.”
“Probably not. So you should just give in now,” he laughs, pulling his hand away from the side of my face.
He fills the shirt and then grabs a bale of straw and a pumpkin and builds the scarecrow by the road while I watch, lending a hand when I see he needs it.
There’s a calm between us, an ease rooted in a comfort between two people that has been built over a lifetime. This is something I won’t have with anyone else.
My cheeks heat as I realize he’s watching me. He grins and I grin back without thinking.
“What are we naming him this year?” he asks, tugging a hat over the top of the pumpkin.
“How about Docken?”
“Docken?” he laughs. “Where’d you get that?”
“A little girl in my class named her puppy that. It’s just the first thing I thought of,” I shrug.
“Docken it is. But take that off the potential baby name list. It definitely sounds like a dog’s name,” he laughs easily.
I look away.
“Hey,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder. “I was kidding. If you like it, it can stay on the list. Maybe a middle name.”
“We’re done here,” I say, changing the subject and taking a step away from him. “I’m going in. I have a lot of papers to grade.”
“Need help?”
I look at him and can’t help but laugh. “You are not coming inside and helping me grade papers.”
“You love how I help grade papers,” he laughs, wiggling his eyebrows.
“You are not coming in and . . .”
“Eating your pussy? That’s how grading papers with me usually ends, and I do believe I get an A-plus.”
“Damn it, Ty!” I say, turning away so he doesn’t see my face. “Go home.”
“I am home, beautiful.”
I hate that I’m on the brink of breaking, that he makes me forget why I’m mad.
Heading into the house, I hear him toss his things into the truck. “Wanna go to dinner?” he asks.
“Nope,” I call out over my shoulder.
“Want me to make you dinner while you grade papers?”
“Nope.”
“Want me to have you for dinner?”
I shake my head and turn to face him. My hand on my hip doesn’t take away from the smile on my face. “Ty? Enough.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
“You are impossible. I’m mad at you.”
“I figured that out. You can stop being mad now.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Then think of how much fun it’ll be being mad at me when I’m in the same house. You can be mean to me all day and night. It would be much more cathartic for you.”
My laugh dances out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“And think of the makeup sex when I convince you to stop being mad.” His eyes twinkle in the sunset. “But I’ll tell ya something, E. I don’t think I can wait very long to get inside you again.”
“Stop,” I breathe, watching him cut the distance between us in half.